


And Along Came Bunny

by simeysgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simeysgirl/pseuds/simeysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had spent a good deal of time not thinking about Draco. The appearance of a six-foot pink bunny kind of stomped all over that. A remix of the marvellous <a href="http://omi-ohmy.livejournal.com/2341.html">The Fancy Dress Party</a> by <a href="http://omi-ohmy.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://omi-ohmy.livejournal.com/"></a><b>omi_ohmy</b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Along Came Bunny

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the [](http://hd-remix.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hd-remix.livejournal.com/)**hd_remix** fest. Hope you all enjoy it!

The door to the staff room opened and Harry lifted his copy of _Quidditch Weekly_ a little to cover his face. It had been the morning from hell, and all he wanted was to have his lunch break. To be perfectly honest, he'd have been happy to simply have a cup of tea in peace. Peaking over the top, Harry sighed in relief as the Help Witch ignored him and went about making her own cuppa.

It wasn't often that Harry had such a busy morning. Usually, there was an odd child who had got a hold of their parent's wand, or a wizard who had tried showing off to his mates. He wasn't usually rushed off his feet. This shift had been different: 'emergency' after 'emergency' had rolled in, and Harry was—and he wasn't afraid to admit it—hiding and wondering why the hell he hadn't taken a job as a librarian.

Only one of the cases had been a 'real' emergency—and Harry fervently hoped that Mrs Filliwit had learnt her lesson about playing with fanged geraniums. Reattaching feet was never fun—so Harry went happily back to his tea and magazine. Susan could more than cope with any swollen tongues or spotty children that walked, limped or floated through the doors.

Harry was comfortably getting lost in an article on regulation gloves when the door once again opened—this time slamming against the wall behind it—causing Harry to drop his cuppa.

“Harry! You have to come quickly!”

“Hermione?” Harry took in Hermione's harried appearance and immediately jumped up from his seat. It had very little to do with the tepid tea stain that was spreading over his cloak and everything to do with the fact that Hermione worked in the Children's Ward and only ever ran when one of her kids was in trouble.

“Hang on,” Hermione said, clutching at her side. “Merlin, I need more exercise. And maybe a drink.”

Harry quickly poured her a glass of water which she drank in one long gulp.

“Thanks. Right. Where was I?”

“Emergency?”

“Huh?”

“You were going to tell me why you ran down here? Why you were out of breath? Maybe a medical emergency?”

“Oh, right.” Hermione took a deep breath. “Yes, one of the kids... Gertrude needs you. I think she has the pox.” Nodding to herself, she continued, “I need a second opinion.”

“Oh.” Harry was taken aback. It wasn't exactly urgent, and Hermione was acting quite strange. “Why didn't you just call for me?”

Hermione looked up at the overly-large speaker creakily barking information every couple of minutes and blushed.

“What's going on?” Harry asked, wishing he hadn't chucked his tea over himself. He had to be back on his own ward in ten minutes, and he desperately needed another cuppa—and maybe some food—before his allotted time ended.

“Just come with me. It's been a bloody long shift and I'm very tired. Please?”

Harry stared longingly at the kitchen as he followed her out of the door. “You're buying me some crisps from the machine,” he said, rubbing his stomach.

Hermione was surprisingly quiet as they travelled up to the Children's Ward, answering Harry's small talk with one word answers and, at one point, ignoring him completely.

As they entered the ward, Hermione's attitude immediately changed. She relaxed, laughing and pointing to the middle of the room. “Could you wait a minute, Harry? It looks like Gertrude is enjoying the entertainment, and we wouldn't want to interrupt her fun, would we?”

Harry nodded, strangely mesmerised by the sight of the six foot pink rabbit bouncing around the giggling children. “Of course. Anyway, I'm not leaving till I get my crisps. Who is that, anyway? Don't tell me you managed to get Ron to dress up for the kids again?”

“Oh, God, no. Never again.”

Hermione whipped out her wand and Harry groaned in pleasure at the sight of a bag of ready salted flying towards them. He'd have preferred cheese and onion, but his stomach didn't really care.

“Who's'it'then?” he asked around a mouthful.

“Well, I was explaining to Pansy—” Hermione stopped to wave at the woman in question, sat watching the rabbit. “—that the children hadn't had any surprises for a while, and as it was nearly Easter...”

“CALLING MEDIWIZARD POTTER. EMERGENCY CALL FOR MEDIWIZARD POTTER.”

“That's me,” Harry said, already taking his wand out and turning for the door. “Sorry, Hermione; I'll pop up when I can to check on Gertrude's pox. I'm sure you're right though. I can see them from here.”

~

Harry's urgent call had been, surprisingly, an actual emergency. It had taken him a good half an hour of complicated stasis charms to ensure that Mr Gryllpots didn't lose his nose. As Harry tried to sneak away once Mr Gryllpots—with nose—had been transferred upstairs, Susan stopped him with a look.

“Not a chance, mate.” Susan held up her hand. “My turn. If you're good, I might even bring you back a doughnut.”

Harry's mind drifted to the thought of the sweet pastry, and when he came to, Susan had disappeared and in her place stood an anxious looking nurse. “Can I help you?”

“Emergency, Mr Potter. Coming down from the Children's Ward.”

Harry's immediate thoughts turned to Gertrude and her pox. Maybe he _should_ have interrupted her fun. Panicking, Harry ran out into the corridor, ready to meet the trolley.

Hermione appeared around the corner, an amused looking Pansy by her side, and Harry couldn't help but sigh in relief as he spied the fluffy costume on the trolley levitating behind them.

“What's the—Draco?”

“Oh, Merlin...” Draco moaned, his face as pink as his suit. His—thankfully still mittened—hands were scratching at every part of him that he could reach. “I will kill you for this, Pansy!”

“Nonsense, darling.” Pansy turned to Harry. “Take good care of him, Harry. Only the best care for our Draco.” Blowing Draco a kiss, Pansy swept out of the corridor without so much as a glance back.

Harry turned to face Draco and Hermione. “Let's get you into a more private area, and we can see what's wrong.”

“Are you okay from here, Harry?” Hermione asked from behind a hand that was obviously hiding a grin.

Harry nodded and directed the trolley into the nearest examination room, trying his utmost to keep his professional composure.

~

Harry couldn't believe it. Sure, he'd seen a few crazy things since he'd started at St Mungo's. Having to separate a misguided couple's incorrect use of the _Togetherness Spell_ —meant to be used for long distance relationships, not for two who were very close indeed—had been his highlight so far. But the sight of Draco Malfoy dressed up in pink bunny suit, entertaining children and covered head-to-toe—and _everywhere_ in between; Harry checked—in hives had taken _all_ the biscuits.

It had taken a while for Draco to allow Harry to remove the costume—which was a task in itself, as Draco couldn't, or wouldn't, stop scratching—so that Harry could finally get a good look at the problem.

The first thing Harry noticed was the smell. It was overwhelming; it smelt as if Draco was decaying. Scrunching up his nose, Harry moved to take a closer look.

“It isn't me.”

“Harry raised an eyebrow at him, wondering for a second if Draco was hallucinating. Putting on his best 'healer-face', Harry smiled. “What do you mean? Do you feel as if you're not present?”

“No, you bloody idiot! The smell! It's the suit; it was there before I put it on.”

Harry took a step back, shocked by Draco's tone. It had been a while since he'd heard Draco talk to him as such.

“I'm sorry.” Draco gestured to himself. “It's just embarrassing. And so fucking itchy.”

Harry nodded in recognition of the apology, automatically waving his wand to stop Draco's fingers from causing any damage.

“And smelly,” Draco added, scrunching up his own nose.

“Why the hell did you still put it on?”

“What?”

“The suit. If it smelt so bad, why did you put it on?”

Draco blushed, his face reddening even more than it was. “For the children,” he said aloud. Harry was sure he heard a ' _bloody Pansy_ ' and a ' _stupid plans_ ' mumbled as well.

With his trained eye and a good few pokes of his wand—including a solid fifty seconds of blushing from both men as Harry examined Draco's nether regions—Harry determined that Draco was suffering from a severe allergic reaction to the bunny suit. His skin was an alarming shade of red, with angry blisters in places where the suit had been in constant contact. Harry wasn't at all surprised by the diagnosis, especially not after smelling it.

Harry prescribed a soothing balm to stop the itching—Draco looked as if he was about to weep in gratitude—and a potion to counteract the reaction. Harry also took a small sample of the suit to be tested, and incinerated the rest of the atrocity where it lay.

“Environmental hazard,” Harry said when a stern looking nurse popped her head around the door to ask after the burning smell. Harry was surprised that Draco could laugh so much, considering his condition.

Draco was less than happy to discover that Harry wanted him to spend the night in the hospital. Harry flatly ignored Draco's protestations, even threatening to use magic to keep him there. Pansy was right: only the best care for Draco. The welts and blisters were still slightly red and inflamed, and Harry was worried about infection. The hospital was the best place for him; healer's orders.

Harry checked Draco over one last time before he was due to leave for the night, and he couldn't help but suppress a smile. Now that the seriousness was over, Harry could see the hilarity. He had to walk quickly after bidding Draco goodnight to get out of earshot; he really didn't think that it would help Draco at all if he heard Harry laughing at his predicament.

~

As Harry walked home—via the chip shop; he'd only had a packet of crisps all day—he thought of Draco lying on the trolley, pink mittens scrubbing at pink fur, and laughed again.

It wasn't a bitter laugh, though. It had been quite a long time since he wished any harm on Draco. It was a good natured, friends-down-the-pub laugh, and Harry fully expected Draco to react the same should the situations be reversed. Harry smiled. Fat chance of that; he bloody hated dressing up.

Harry was just finishing up his bag of chips—only his favourite crunchy bits left in the bottom of the cone—as he reached his house. He was more than ready to end his busy and eventful day.

Opening the front door, Harry wasn't at all surprised to see Hermione sitting on the sofa.

“Have you got something to tell me?” she asked, perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in accusation.

“I haven't a clue what you mean. Cuppa?”

“Yes, you do. And I'd love one, thanks.”

“I'll put the kettle on then.”

“Harry.”

Harry ignored her and went about making the offered cuppa.

“Ah, I see the selective mutism has kicked in again. Do you want me to just come out and say it?”

Harry resolutely kept his back to Hermione and concentrated on straining the tea. He already had a pretty good idea what she was going to say.

“Would you care to explain to me what Draco Malfoy is doing in the hospital?”

“You were there,” Harry said as calmly as he could. He knew he was probably blushing. “He had a reaction to the—”

“Harry!” Hermione had switched to her 'stern voice' she used with the children, but the small grin she couldn't hide belied her true feelings. “You know exactly what I mean. Why is Draco _still_ in the hospital when I know for a fact that a dose of Anti Allergy potion would have cleared it up straight away? He could apply the lotion just as well if he was at home. There is no need for him to be kept in!”

“Ah, it's a little more serious than I first thought,” Harry said quickly. “I'm worried about his blood saturation. I need to wait for the test results. I've given him to Sharon; she'll watch him. She promised to floo if there were any problems.”

Harry hated lying to Hermione, not least because he was pretty sure that she saw straight through him. With the look on her face, Harry suspected he was right. Hermione could read him like a bloody book.

~

Harry tossed and turned for hours, until he finally gave in and got out of bed. He knew sleep wasn't going to come any time soon, and he knew exactly the reason why. Slipping on his dressing gown, Harry thought that a nice cuppa couldn't hurt. If he was going to be up all hours of the night thinking about Draco Malfoy, he might as well be comfortable.

Warming his hands on his cup, Harry looked at his kitchen table. Harry gripped his cup tighter as he resisted the urge to flip the bloody table over. It was, after all, the place where it all began.

The table had seen a wide range of emotions and situations between Harry and Draco. It was the focal point of the house, and it was where they had spent most of their time.

The awkward, stilted conversations when Draco first moved in sprang to the front of Harry's mind.

_“Thank you, Potter. It's very gracious of you.”_

_“No thanks needed; it's the least I could do.”_

It hadn't taken long before the awkwardness gave way, to be replaced with the simple politeness of two men getting used to living together.

_“Would you like a cuppa?”_

_“I'd love one; I'll make it.”_

_“No, let me.”_

_“No. Let me.”_

Then came the late nights with tea and biscuits, where they had finally _talked_ for the first time. Harry realising just how wrong he'd been about Draco, and Draco in turn admitting that he himself had misjudged Harry. It was during these late nights, that Harry first saw Draco as a friend.

_“I hate it, all the papers and stuff. I hate them.”_

_“I never realised. I'm sorry, Harry.”_

_“Me too, Draco. Me too.”_

Harry's favourite—or least favourite, depending on his mood—were the firewhiskey fuelled nights where they laughed and drank until the small hours of the morning, joking and telling stories of their friends.

_“...and then she said, 'Frog' and fell down!”_

_“She didn't! That's brilliant! Did I tell you about the time...”_

It was during these boozy nights that Harry stopped seeing Draco in any way as _Malfoy_. He noticed how funny and kind Draco was, and how much he enjoyed spending time with him. He noticed what a good friend Draco had become, and, without meaning to, Harry started falling stupidly and helplessly in love with him.

It was at the table that Harry had finally decided to tell Draco how he felt, and it was also where Draco had told him that he was leaving for his potions course before Harry had had the chance. Draco leaving had been the end of the easy friendship they had built, and since Draco had returned it had been more coy, like it had been when Draco had first moved in. Harry had thought that Draco had felt the same way. He'd caught Draco looking at him in what he knew was the same way he looked at Draco, but then he'd left, and Harry had just tried to move on.

And now, as Harry stood in front of the bloody table, his cup of tea going cold as he reminisced, he didn't know what he was going to do. Hermione was right, of course. As good as Draco's stay in the hospital would do him, his condition could have been managed just as well at home. Harry had justified it by telling himself—and Hermione—that he was worried about Draco getting an infection, but Harry knew deep down that he simply liked looking after him. If there was a way that Harry could have feasibly stayed at the hospital, he was sure he would have done so.

~

The next morning, an extremely tired Harry severely regretted staying up all night. After checking in on a sleeping Draco and taking a look at his chart, Harry proceeded to avoid Draco's room as he thought about what to do next. Draco's test results were back, and there was no infection, no temperature and no reason to keep him in hospital.

Harry could only see three options.

One, he could ignore the test results, assume there was something yet to go wrong, tell Draco his condition might worsen and try to keep him in one more night.

Two, he could sign off on Draco's chart, let him go home, and continue as they had for the past couple of months. They'd see each other down the pub or at a friend's house, and Harry might eventually pluck up the courage to tell Draco how he felt.

Three, Harry could sign off on Draco's chart, let him go home, and simply ask him out.

The voice of Hermione—otherwise known as his conscience—rang through Harry's head as he pondered the first possibility. Yes, it was more than slightly stalkerish, possibly illegal and certainly unethical. So that was out.

Once Harry recognised that Draco was definitely going home, he just had to decide between options two and three. Harry really didn't want to let Draco slip away from him again, but he was well aware of the fact that he didn't actually know if Draco felt the same way. Harry also knew that if he didn't talk to Draco while he was on his own, away from their friends, he never would. The thought of his friends being there to witness his embarrassment was too much.

Harry rested his head on his hands as he looked out at the waiting room from the desk. An older couple caught his eye, and Harry studied them for a second. They weren't doing anything spectacular; they were simply sitting next to one another. The grey-haired man's hand rested on his partner's knee, giving it a comforting pinch every know and again, each time receiving a grateful smile in return.

Harry sighed out loud at the heart-warming sight.

“What's the matter?” Susan asked before elbowing Harry in the ribs.

Harry jumped; he hadn't even noticed her arrival. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “Just had a late night.”

“Nothing, my arse.” Susan snorted. “You're all moony-eyed over something. Or someone.” Her eyes darted around the room. “Spill.”

“I want that,” Harry said, pointing at the couple.

“A crup bite?”

“What?! No! That.” Harry pointed again over at the couple, waggling his finger between the two for emphasis. “I want that.”

“Ah, you want your very own knee pincher. That, we can do. Me, you and that new club Ginny and Blaise were going on about. What do you think?”

“No.” Harry gave the couple one last lingering look. “Thanks, but I know exactly what I want.”

“Oh, it's like that, is it?”

Harry smiled. “Hopefully. Can you cover for me? Please? Ten minutes, I promise.”

Susan grinned. “Take all the time you need. It's about time you got some.”

“Thanks! I owe you one!” Harry called, already leaving the waiting room.

Harry was halfway down the corridor to Draco's room when he was hit by a wave of uncertainty. What if he was wrong? What if Draco didn't like him like that? What if Draco laughed in his face?

Before he knew it, Harry had reached Draco's room. The picture of the couple in the waiting room jumped into Harry's mind, as well as the perfect image of Draco sitting at his kitchen table, drinking firewhiskey and laughing at Harry's stories. Harry knew what he had to do. He had to find out before he lost his nerve.

Harry slowly pushed open the door, not wanting to disturb Draco if he was sleeping or changing. “Draco,” he called when he noticed the empty bed, “are you all right?”

“Yes,” Draco called from the direction of the bathroom. “I'll be right out.”

Harry paced the room as he waited, unable to sit or stand still for a second. He'd waited a long time for this, and he really didn't want to mess it up.

“Harry?” Draco was stood in the doorway to the bathroom, looking at Harry with an exasperated smile on his face. “Everything all right?”

“Oh!” Harry stopped pacing and faced Draco head-on. “Everything's fine. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“If it's about me never wearing stinking pink bunny suits again, trust me; I've learnt my lesson!”

Harry laughed. “That's good to know.” He gestured to the bed. “Please, sit down. I need to say something.”

“Oh, Merlin. It's serious, isn't it. That blonde mediwitch said everything was okay, but she was lying, wasn't she? How serious is it? Am I dying?”

Harry shook his head quickly. “No! No, no. You're all good to go. Keep up with the balms and the blisters will clear up in no time. This is something else...” Harry trailed off, not sure of how to begin.

“Harry, you're worrying me. What's the matter?”

Harry opened his mouth. He needed to say it quickly, before he chickened out. “Draco, I...”

“Son of a bitch!”

Harry was so shocked at Draco's response that he nearly fell over. He hadn't even got all of the words out, and Draco was already rejecting him. It was exactly why he didn't want to do it in front of people.

Harry was about to apologise for himself, when he realised that Draco wasn't actually looking at him, but the out of the window into the hallway. The door flew open, and the source of Draco's fury was revealed.

“Darling! Are you ready to rejoin the masses? They rang to say I could pick you up. Of course, I told her I had appointments, but I couldn't help myself. Who else is going to look after my Draco?”

Harry scoffed, causing Pansy to whip around to look at him. Her face immediately brightened. “Oh dear,” she said without losing her grin. “Have I interrupted something?”

Amazed by her perceptiveness, yet extremely annoyed by her assumption, Harry shook his head. There was a time and a place for everything, Harry had realised, and that moment wasn't it. “I was just telling Draco he was free to go. Draco smiled and dressed in seconds, obviously eager to get out of the hospital.

“Are you sure, Harry?” Draco asked before he left. “It looked as if you wanted to tell me something.”

“Certain,” Harry answered, shooing them towards the door. “There's no rush. I have all the time in the world.”

As Harry watched Draco gather his things and bitch at Pansy, he knew he was right. It didn't matter _when_ he talked to Draco, just that he did. And he would. One day. Although, he hoped to Merlin that it wouldn't involve costumes.

__

_

The end.

_

__


End file.
